


love me tender

by kallistob



Series: Gramander AUs [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Fluff without Plot, M/M, Singer Percival, Smitten Newt, inaccurate timelines - Graves sings Elvis Presley, macusa party, newt is crushing hard, not quite true there is a plot, soft and fluffy things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 08:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12384357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob
Summary: “Yes,” Queenie’s voice reached his ears. She giggled, bringing her glass of champagne to her lips. “He sings too.”“He’s incredible,” Newt whispered without thinking, utterly enamoured with the man he thought he had no chances with.





	love me tender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crimson_Voltaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Voltaire/gifts).



> soft and fluffy feelings for a monday evening. once again an old fic, although i re-read and corrected it. enjoy <3

Newt sat still, barely daring to breathe.

-

In the few months since he’d started working at MACUSA, he’d learned to know Graves’ voice, attuned his ear to it. He could guess the man’s mood judging by the slightest change in tone.

His voice. Sharp as a knife when giving orders, honeyed with dangerosity when they weren’t being followed. Whispered, soft with barely concealed fury when Aurors dared question his loyalty to MACUSA - a mere week after Graves’ return. He'd been tired that day, fragile as a bird’s heart. Graves had let himself fall on the couch of his office, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as he told Newt to go home.

He’d touched him.

Registered Graves’ sharp intake of breath as Newt’s hands fell on his shoulders, hesitantly, before starting to massage him. He’d hoped the man could feel the warmth and depth of Newt's affection through his many layers of clothes.

He’d desired that voice. Graves had groaned as he gave in and let himself relax under Newt’s ministrations. His eyes had closed and his shoulders sagged as he melted in Newt's arms.

Then, he’d imagined that voice. Breathless little pants and moans under him as Newt explored Graves’ body with teasing touches. Would he curse? Would he beg? Would Newt hear whimpers or groans? Would Percival Graves be silent or loud? Demanding or domineering?

But as much as Newt had let himself be lulled by the sound of Graves’ voice during the time he spent in his company, nothing could have prepared him for this.

People’s conversations faded as Graves climbed on stage. They turned towards him as one, curiosity and dread rising.

Would Graves give a speech? Had there been a breach in security at MACUSA’S traditional New Year party? Why did the Director of Magical Security decide to talk in public - for the first time since he escaped Grindelwald’s claws? Had there been news?

Speculations ran wild. Nobody expected the bright lights to dim around them until only the shimmering glow of magical candles remained, bathing the man on stage in soft shadows.

Graves cleared his throat and tapped his index and middle finger twice against his thigh, before closing his eyes. He took a deep breath. The piano behind him came to life, invisible fingers pressing the keys. The music was almost a lullaby.

Then Graves opened his mouth, and Newt forgot how to breathe.

 

> _Love me tender,_
> 
> _Love me sweet,_
> 
> _Never let me go._
> 
> _You have made my life complete,_
> 
> _And I love you so._

Stunned, silent awe quieted the whispers. They stared at Graves, unable to tear their eyes away. Newt couldn’t either, unable to believe that _Percival_ was the one singing. He found himself utterly enthralled.

 

> _Love me tender,_
> 
> _Love me true,_
> 
> _All my dreams fulfilled._

Graves’ eyes swept around the room until they settled on Newt. He smiled at him - Newt's heart skipping several beats as he met Percival's eyes - and then resumed singing.

 

> _Take me to your heart._
> 
> _For it’s there that I belong,_
> 
> _And we’ll never be apart._

Newt felt dizzy, dazed, drunk as he listened to Percival, his heart full to bursting of an unspoken love for him.

Percival’s voice enfolded them, sheltered them. He spoke of peace and happiness, _hope_ and gentleness - implausible things, coming from a man who’d gone to Hell, and lived to tell the tale _._

 

> _Love me tender,_
> 
> _Love me true,_
> 
> _All my dreams fulfilled._
> 
> _For my darlin I love you,_
> 
> _And I always will._

-

The piano stopped.

The room stayed silent still. Time had slowed down, and nobody dared to speak, for it would break the enchantment Percival's singing had invoked.

Then a first applause resounded - Newt's - and the dam was broken. He was quickly joined by another pair of hands, then another. Graves bowed at them, smiling shyly at the thunder of cheers and whistles and calls for more as he descended the stage.

Newt was gobsmacked. To no one in particular, he asked, “How?”

“No one knew either until three years ago, when the Director memorably got drunk and started singing while standing on a table, mistaking his wand for a microphone,” Tina said to him, still applauding. “He was marvelous. A wonder. If it was up to me, I’d be content to just sit and hear him sing for the rest of my days.”

Newt couldn’t agree more. His eyes were drawn to Graves again. The man was lost in the crowd, shaking a few hands here and there.

“Yes,” Queenie’s voice reached his ears. She giggled, bringing her glass of champagne to her lips. “He sings _too_.”

“He’s incredible,” Newt whispered without thinking, utterly enamoured with the man he had no chances with.

Queenie whacked his arm. “I heard that. Newt, please,” she scowled. “You have more chances with him than anyone else in this room, if the way his thoughts _wander_ when he is around you are any indication. Do something about that tender crush of yours, Mr. Scamander. Don’t ignore it and keep pretending it will go away.”

“Yes, well. It usually worked when I did that before, but now…” Newt made a helpless gesture. “ _He sings too._ ”

“I know,” Queenie laughed. “Go get your man before someone else steals him away. Maybe if you’re lucky,” she lowered her voice, ”The next time he sings that song it will be all for ya.”

Newt made a disbelieving sound, but he did stand up. Even if he never mustered up the courage to ask Graves out, he at least intended to congratulate him on his singing. Despite his travels, Newt had never heard anything quite like his voice before.

But then again, being slightly in love with the singer _probably_ made him biased.  

_Mercy Lewis, I am in such trouble._

 


End file.
